


Open the Bourbon, Drown the Feelings

by IndraraSkye



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Come wallow in the sadness with me, Depressed Stiles, M/M, Major Character Death (offscreen), Poor Derek, Poor Sheriff, Post Season 4, Sadness, no happy ending, obviously super non-canonical, post Derek leaving Beacon Hills, suicide (offscreen), suicide letter, turning to alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndraraSkye/pseuds/IndraraSkye
Summary: Badness has happened offscreen. Like, serious, serious badness. In the aftermath, there are letters and howls and bourbon. And sadness. Lots and lots of sadness.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide; suicide letter. Please, for the love of all that is holy, protect yourself. If you are triggered at all by the idea of suicide, even offscreen, please don't read this. If reading suicide letters is going to trigger you, please don't read this. Your mental health is more important than fan fiction, and I love you. Take care of yourself!
> 
> Also, please note the major character death tag. The major character death is Stiles. This, too, can be triggering, I know. 
> 
> Last note: Credit for the title goes to MidnightThoughts, who looked at me when I was gaping at the work title box like a fish out of water and offered it up because she is amazing like that and I can't write without her.

_You left._

He swiped at his eyes, setting the piece of loose leaf paper down and looking around the bedroom. It was too quiet, too clean. He wanted screams and laughter, laundry covering every flat surface and the comforter on the floor. He took a swig straight from the bottle in his hand and returned to the task before him.

_I tried. I really did. For a whole year, I went on like it didn't matter that I was completely alone. I lived my life just like you told me to do. I helped Scott when I could. He wasn't very interested in what I had to say, you know. I tried to hold things together, to rebuild the pack and remember that I mattered no matter what anyone else suggested through words and actions. I tried to ignore Dad's jabs and Scott's attitude toward me. I tried to pretend that Lydia held me as closely as I held her. I tried to be on friendly terms with Malia. But I'm just a ridiculous human, and you left._

He took in the slight smudges in the ink on the paper, the small oval crinkles on the page. So many tears. So many things he'd never understood. How could he never have picked up on this? His most important job in this entire world, and he's failed utterly and completely. He looked at the objects in the room, prized possessions and treasured mementos piled into stacks that were labeled with post-it notes containing a single name on each of them.

_Please, please don’t blame yourself for this. This was all me. I was here, alone, and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle the distance between me and Scott, the misunderstandings between Dad and me even once he knew about the supernatural, being alone in a pack that didn’t accept me as one of them. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle Beacon Hills anymore. I couldn’t get away from Beacon Hills. You left. I had to leave, too._

_I know we only had one more year and that would have been it. We could have been you and me in public. You could have leaned on me anytime, and I could have leaned on you. Nobody would have had any right to stand between us. I know that you needed to go find yourself, to go bond with your family. I get that. You had to go, but I had to go too. I just couldn’t get away any other way._

He threw the paper down on the desktop and smashed the heel of his hand into his forehead, rubbing it until the physical pain overshadowed the emotional anguish the letter was raising. He banged his other palm on the desk; the force reverberated, causing the full pencil cup on the corner to jump and shake. He grimaced and threw his arm across the desk, sweeping its contents to the floor. He blinked slowly and took another deep draught from his bottle of bourbon before bending over to pick the letter back up, continuing on.

_You’ve come so far. You’ve grown so much. I’m so proud of you. Don’t let this set you back. I loved you with all my heart. I love you with all my heart, but there are some times when even love can’t bridge chasms that keep growing. You’ll move on from this. I know you will. You’re resilient; you’re strong. It’s one of the things I’ve always both feared and admired about you. I always thought of myself as strong, too, but I’m not as strong as you are. I wish I was. I wish ~~we could be together~~ a lot of things._

He shouldn’t be reading this. Not this. He knew that. It wasn’t right. It was too personal. He kept reading.

_I will always love you. I don’t know where I’ll end up. I don’t know where you’ll end up. I don’t know where you are, but I know I will always love you. I know that none of this is your fault. I know that you’ll blame yourself._

_Again, don’t. You’re a wonderful man, Derek, and a great alpha once you grew into it. You’re kind and caring and a better listener than I could have imagined. You were the most gentle person in my life. (Don’t worry, I never told anyone that. Your reputation is intact.) You’ve single-handedly helped me through more than I should have lived through. I came as far as I did because of you. You showed me what real love and friendship were. You were sunlight and summer rain showers, fall nights and hard apple cider. You are everything good. Never forget that, love. Never. You are more than worthy of everything. I wasn’t._

_I need to ask a couple of really big things of you, baby: Live for me. Settle down, establish a pack. Check in on the Beacon Hills pack occasionally. Scott trusts too much, and usually in all the wrong people. Also, look after my dad. He’ll need someone to watch out for him. He’s never been particularly good at watching out for himself._

_I will always love you. I suppose I got the last word in._

_Stiles_

The letter fell from his hand, the bottle in his other raising to his lips again. He walked over to the little pile of treasures labeled “Derek” and kneeled over it. Two of Stiles’s favorite hoodies lay in it, as well as a plain black undershirt. A few paperback mysteries and some hardcover reference books of some kind were in the pile, as well, and several handwritten letters. He didn’t unfold or read them. He didn’t have to. They were love letters. He looked through hard-copy pictures of Stiles and Derek with their arms around each other and smiling into a camera in locations around town. There were pictures of Stiles cuddled in Derek’s arms and Derek cuddled in Stiles’s arms, both of them looking beyond happy together. He wondered who took those pictures. Stiles’s phone sat on top of everything else. He picked it up, but he couldn’t turn it on. He couldn’t...He didn’t want to see what was on that phone. 

He laid the letter and the phone back on top of that pile and walked out, liquor on his breath and tears streaming down his face. On the floor, swept off the desk with other items, lay another letter marked _Dad_. He left that one where it was. He couldn’t face it. Stiles’s...it was his fault. He couldn’t face it.

In the distance, a lone wolf howled, high-pitched and loud--a plaintive, mourning wail that echoed everything in the sheriff’s heart that night.


End file.
